


Bake Until Golden

by celeste9



Category: Primeval
Genre: Baking, First Kiss, Food Porn, M/M, Romance, Stress Baking, Texting, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baked goods in the break room were already a staple when Becker arrived at the ARC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bake Until Golden

**Author's Note:**

> For 'cakes and cookies' on my Primeval Denial bingo card and 'food porn' on my Trope Bingo card. Beta by fififolle.

The baked goods in the break room were already a staple when Becker arrived at the ARC. He didn’t think much of it at first, just took a cookie to have with his tea and appreciated the fact it was there.

It was all homemade, clearly, no packaging and far too good to have come from Tesco. It was always different, too. Cookies of all sorts, cupcakes iced artfully, scones, cakes, sometimes even brownies. The plates were always there early in the morning, before Becker arrived, so he never saw who put them there. Always incredibly neat as well.

Becker started to wonder who was responsible for it. He felt it was his duty to know the workings of the ARC, even the identity of the mystery baker.

Not Connor. Connor got marked off Becker’s list immediately. Becker couldn’t believe Connor would have the patience for baking and it was all much too neat and organised. Besides which, Becker knew he wouldn’t trust anything Connor had made so he doubted the food would disappear so quickly if Connor had baked it.

Abby didn’t seem the type, either. Becker just couldn’t picture her in the kitchen, slaving over a mixer and a hot oven. Cutter was eliminated on account of the neat thing, as well. If Cutter could bake, the cookies would have been dumped in a box haphazardly and the brownies would not have been sliced into perfect squares, each the same size as the next.

(And then, well... Cutter went to hospital in a coma. The baking didn’t stop.)

It couldn’t be Sarah, as she hadn’t joined the team until after Becker had. So perhaps Jenny, or Lorraine.

Or at least, he thought so until he watched Jenny burn tea. Suddenly she seemed a far less likely candidate.

Then Lorraine took a personal day, and a plate of croissants appeared. So it wasn’t her either.

Becker frowned at the croissants. They were perfectly rolled, arranged in overlapping circles on a platter, and he willed them to reveal their origin. Sadly, they refused.

He ate three with his coffee in retaliation.

-

“Morning, Becker,” Abby said, a cup of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten scone with jam in the other. “He’s made scones, but I think Connor’s eaten half of them already.”

“He?”

Abby looked quizzically at him. “Lester.”

“Lester bakes all that stuff?”

“Who did you think it was?”

Becker stared down the corridor to the break room. He hadn’t even considered Lester. He felt like this huge oversight was a slight on his character. “I was starting to think it might be one of the cleaners.”

Abby laughed. “No, it’s Lester. I was surprised at first, too, but he’s done it for so long it’s just one of those things, now. I suppose it really isn’t that strange, when you think about it. Baking’s all about control, in a way. You have to be very precise if you want it to turn out.”

Though he nodded, because he could see her point, Becker was still having enormous difficulty picturing Lester in front of a tray of cupcakes, piping out icing. He tried to imagine Lester with flour up to his elbows, kneading dough, and couldn’t do it.

They had a meeting later that morning and Becker couldn’t concentrate at all. He kept staring at Lester, trying to fit together the stern, well-dressed civil servant with the mystery baker in his head. The images didn’t seem to want to mesh.

He must have been too obvious about it, because Lester kept glancing towards him, eyes narrowed. When they finished, Lester walked up to him and said, “I’m sorry to say, Captain, but it seems you can’t force me to shorten my presentation with your brain. Nor can you kill me with it, if that’s what you were attempting.”

It was the perfect opening for a smart response. Instead Becker blurted, “You bake?”

Lester arched an eyebrow. “I am a man of many talents, Captain,” he said, and walked away.

Becker stared after him. Apparently so.

-

There was a pattern to the baking. Given that Becker had utterly failed to divine the origin of the ARC’s personal bakery, he was determined to work out the pattern at least.

When they had an anomaly, the chances of baked goods appearing in the break room the next day increased exponentially. The worse it was - if a civilian died, if someone was injured, if there was an issue with the public - the greater the likelihood of there being a plate of blueberry crumble bars or a loaf of banana bread. If Lester had a meeting or a phone call with the minister, peanut butter and chocolate cupcakes or white chocolate chip and macademia nut cookies were pretty much a given.

Becker came to the realisation that Lester was a stress baker. The thought was oddly charming, and entirely humanising. Lester projected such an untouchable air that it was nice to know he actually was affected by things, the same as the rest of them.

“When does he find the time for all this?” Becker asked once, as he sat in the break room with Connor and Abby. There was cake. Lorraine said the minister had ranted via phone for nearly an hour yesterday.

“I suspect he might be an android,” Connor suggested, licking the back of his fork to get the last bits of icing. “Doesn’t need to sleep. Plus it would explain the whole no emotions thing.”

“Connor!” Abby exclaimed. “That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Does sarcastic count as an emotion?”

Abby gave Connor a smack on the arm that was hard enough for him to reach out and rub at the spot. “I think he doesn’t get to see his kids much any more. He probably likes to be busy so, you know. Less time to think about it.”

“Well, now you’ve made me feel like an arse, thanks for that.”

Becker didn’t say anything. He hadn’t even known that Lester had any kids.

Later, they had an anomaly shout. Becker returned immediately afterwards to give Lester a debrief and then he immediately wrote and submitted his report.

Well, no, he didn’t. But he thought about it, at least, and he thought that should count for something.

-

When Jenny left (on an extended leave of absence, supposedly, but Becker wouldn’t hold his breath), for a week the countertop was so covered with platters of pastries that you could hardly find the room to make a cup of tea. For just an instant, Becker hated her, for the selfishness to leave them all like that.

But he knew that wasn’t fair.

Becker bought a bottle of scotch, somewhere in the range of not so cheap that Lester would turn up his nose and not so expensive that it would go to waste simply getting drunk on. He brought it to Lester’s office, late, after everyone but the bare bones night staff had left. Everyone but Lester, anyway, who perhaps stayed because he’d burned through all the flour in his flat.

He rapped on the door, holding up the bottle.

Lester waved him in and silently got two glasses out of his desk drawer, because of course he kept glasses in his desk.

Becker poured out the scotch and raised his glass. “To Jenny,” he said, wanting to mean it. Mostly meaning it.

“To Jenny,” Lester said, tapping his glass to Becker’s. “May she find what she’s searching for.”

The scotch was exactly right for getting drunk on.

-

“Oi, guv,” Danny said, catching sight of Lester leaning against the railing in front of his office. “Been a long day, I quite fancy something to munch on. One of those double chocolate muffins, maybe?”

“I’m afraid I don’t take requests, Mr Quinn,” Lester’s voice floated down.

“Not even for me?” Danny spread his arms wide.

“Particularly not for you.”

“That’s terribly rude, isn’t it? I’m hurt, Lester, I thought we were mates.”

“Perhaps in your mind,” Lester said. “Captain Becker, a moment, if you please.” He turned and went back into his office.

Danny waggled his eyebrows. “Been a naughty boy, Becker?”

Becker gave him the finger and strode quickly up the ramp. He didn’t think he’d done anything to merit a talking-to, but then, from time to time Lester simply liked to have a good, stern lecture. They’d all had their turns as victim.

“Ah,” Lester said when Becker entered. “I trust everything went smoothly.”

“For us, yes,” Becker said. The creatures had been dispensed with and no one had died or ended up in desperate need of medical attention. That was about the best he could ever hope for.

“Good.”

Becker waited but Lester didn’t say anything else. “Sir?” he prompted. “Was that all you wanted?”

Lester kept his greenish-grey eyes on Becker’s face. “I merely wanted to be certain you-- that the field team isn’t in need of anything.”

Becker wanted desperately to smile as he was fairly certain this was Lester betraying that he did actually care about them. He also hadn’t failed to notice Lester’s little slip of the tongue. “No, sir. Thank you, sir, we’re quite all right.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Lester waved a hand in a shooing motion. “Out with you, then.” He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop.

Before he left, Becker said, “Look, I know you said you don’t take requests, but those muffins do sound good right about now.”

Lester barely glanced up. “Perhaps if you’re very good.”

“Oh, I can be very, very good.” Becker finally allowed himself a small smile, where Lester couldn’t see, and walked out.

-

Lester came in to the break room, carrying a tray. On it was a round, lightly browned cake with raspberries sunken into the top.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Lester said, his eyes passing over Becker before he moved farther into the room and set the tray down on the table. “Now I can leave this.”

“You couldn’t before?”

“No, of course not. Wasn’t safe. If I made you a cake for your birthday and Connor ate it all, that would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

Becker stared at Lester’s profile. “You made me a cake for my birthday?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“How did you even know?”

“It’s in your personnel file, Captain. You will recall that I did in fact hire you.”

“You made me one of your raspberry buttermilk cakes.”

There was a tiny twitch in Lester’s expression. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do, I--” Becker wanted to ask how Lester had known, how he’d known that Becker loved this cake, that when Lester had made it before he’d wanted to eat the entire thing, but he thought it would embarrass them both so he didn’t. “Let’s cut it, then.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to sing.”

“If you do, I think I’ll cry.”

“Goodness, what a disgusting thought. I’ll save us both the trauma.” Lester got a knife out of the drawer and cut two slices, setting them on small plates. The one he put in front of Becker was noticeably larger than the piece he kept for himself.

Becker stared at it, gripping his fork tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. He felt strange, like his chest was too tight.

“Well, go on, eat it, then,” Lester prompted, his own piece remaining untouched. “Don’t let it go stale.”

For a few seconds more, Becker kept looking at the cake. Then he raised a forkful to his mouth, closing his eyes while he savoured it. He ran his tongue over his lips and opened his eyes.

Now Lester was staring at him. Becker met his eyes and said, “Thanks.”

“My…” Lester swallowed. “My pleasure.” He turned his gaze downwards to his plate and stabbed the piece of cake with his fork. He was blushing a little, his cheeks a light rosy pink.

Well, wasn’t that something.

-

Becker wasn’t certain what compelled him to do it. Well, no, actually he was. He just didn’t want to think about it.

He came home from work and the package was waiting for him. He stared at it.

It was late. Lester was probably tired. Likely he’d got something to eat and settled down to relax for the night. It would be incredibly rude to show up unannounced.

Becker grabbed his jacket, his keys, and the package and drove to Lester’s flat before he could think better of it.

Lester opened the door wearing a buttoned shirt with the cuffs rolled up and an old pair of jeans. He didn’t have any flour on him but somehow Becker knew he was baking.

“Captain,” Lester said. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “How unexpected.”

“Sorry,” Becker said, gripping the package behind his back. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose, seeing as you’re already here.” He stepped to the side so Becker could come through the doorway. “You couldn’t have rung first?”

Becker suspected that the extra step of ringing Lester up would have made him chicken out, but of course he couldn’t say that. “Don’t you care for surprises?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, it’s good to have a jolt in your routine. Keeps you from getting too complacent.”

“I hardly think, given my position at the ARC, that I’m in danger of that.”

Chuckling, Becker ceded the point. “Are you baking?” he asked, though he was sure he knew the answer.

“Scones,” Lester said. “What’s that you’re ineffectually attempting to hide behind your back?”

Becker felt the back of his neck heat, even in spite of his customary resistance to blushing. “Er… I might have bought you something,” he mumbled.

Now Lester did look surprised. “What’s that?”

“Here,” Becker said and shoved the package at Lester.

Lester opened it carefully and Becker could hardly bear to watch. Pulling out the article, Lester was silent for an excruciatingly long period. He cleared his throat. “It’s an apron.”

“I thought it might be useful,” Becker said and wanted to die. “I just… I saw it and it made me think of you. So I bought it.” _Oh, bollocks, just shut up, Becker!_

After another stretch of silence, Lester finally looked up at Becker. He was smiling. “Captain, I had no idea you had such good taste.” He promptly tied the pin-striped apron around his waist. “Come along then, I’ll show you how to make scones.”

Becker stood there dumbly for a minute and then hurried after Lester into the kitchen.

-

The next day, when Becker stepped into the ARC break room, he found the product of his evening with Lester. Two plates of scones. A note beneath the plate on the left said, _Captain Becker made these._ Becker couldn’t stop staring at it.

“You made those?” Connor asked, grabbing one from the other plate. “I didn’t know you could bake. No wonder they’re all so... ugly. Malformed, really.”

“I’m sure they taste just fine,” Abby said generously.

Connor looked sceptical.

“Just because something isn’t perfect doesn’t mean it isn’t exactly right,” Abby added. Her brown eyes were completely focused on Becker.

In the background, Connor was saying, “That doesn’t even make any sense,” but Becker wasn’t listening.

He didn’t think Abby was talking about scones.

-

Becker stood in the middle of his kitchen, surrounded by eggs, flour, and sugar. The mixer seemed to be staring him down.

Becker admitted defeat. He took out his mobile and texted, _Are you home?_

Lester responded immediately. _Yes._

_Will you do me a favour?_

_I agree to nothing until I know what it is._

_It’s my mum’s bday and I stupidly said I’d make a cake. Not from a mix. She saw a picture and wanted it. There’s caramel._

There was a slight delay but then the phone buzzed again. _Bring what you’ve got._

Becker grinned.

-

He arrived at Lester’s flat bearing a bag full of baking ingredients. “I left what was in my mixer,” he said to Lester. “Unsalvageable, I think.”

“I expect it was. Better to start from scratch. Come on,” Lester said, leading Becker into the kitchen. He was wearing the apron Becker had bought him.

Becker tried and then failed utterly not to stare at Lester’s arse. Oh, well.

“What sort of cake are you attempting, then?”

“Er… Chocolate cake with a chocolate ganache, and salted caramel over the top. The recipe said it’s supposed to be easy.”

“Perhaps it is, if you’ve ever made a cake from scratch before. Have you?”

“No,” Becker admitted.

“Well, then,” Lester said, rolling his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. “Better let me do the heavy lifting. Watch and learn, Captain.”

Becker resisted rolling his eyes and started taking ingredients out of his bag. “Thanks for doing this,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to.”

“That’s all right,” Lester said brusquely, brushing it off. “Your mum deserves a nice cake, I expect. She got stuck with you, didn’t she?”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Becker said, but he was grinning.

Lester made the whole process seem ridiculously easy. Mostly Becker just watched him, and cleaned up as they went along. Washing bowls, that he could handle.

While the cake was in the oven, they made the ganache. Mostly it consisted of melting chocolate with some cream, so Becker actually helped. He liked the way Lester stood next to him, watching quietly over his shoulder, and the way they would brush against each other sometimes. It was rather distracting.

The ganache went into the fridge to cool. The cake layers came out of the oven and went onto racks. There was a lot of waiting around. It might have been awkward, but Becker liked just being with Lester, as silly as that sounded. Becker liked talking to him.

Lester whipped up the ganache and generously allowed Becker to lick the whisk when he was done.

Becker hummed in appreciation. “Not too sweet.”

“No,” Lester said, his eyes lingering on Becker’s lips before he moved away, measuring out some sugar.

“Now.” Lester dumped the sugar into a pan and turned on the heat. “When you make caramel, you’ve got to stir it constantly or you’ll get lumps. And you mustn’t let it burn.”

“Perhaps you ought to take care of this part.”

Lester’s mouth quirked. “Perhaps. Just watch.” He gently swirled the pan of sugar, as it began to bubble. Becker was rather fascinated. “Now, see how it starts to change colour as it thickens? You want it to be a nice amber before you add the butter.”

“Yes,” Becker said, though he was rather more interested in watching the motion of Lester’s hand, and his long fingers on the handle of the pan.

“Now, hand me the butter.”

That was something Becker could do, at least. The whole thing bubbled impressively when Lester dumped the butter in.

“And the cream.”

Lester slowly drizzled it in, off the heat. “There,” he said, and whisked it all together. “Now it has to cool before you drizzle it on the cake, or it will melt all the icing.”

“Will it be cooled enough when we’ve finished icing the cake?”

Lester shrugged. “Possibly. Would you like to get started? You might enjoy icing; it inevitably gets all over your fingers and must be licked up.”

“Obviously.”

“Yes. Wouldn’t do to waste it.” Lester handed Becker a spatula.

Becker stared at it, and then he looked at Lester. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he suddenly felt like he couldn’t take it any more, not another second. Not another second of standing there next to Lester and smelling his cologne and not doing what he wanted to, what he’d wanted to do for ages.

“Can I... Can I do this?” Becker asked. And then he kissed Lester.

He swallowed Lester’s startled intake of breath, the tiny gasp he made. He moved one hand to Lester’s waist, spreading his fingers, and the other to the soft skin on Lester’s neck. It took only a moment for Lester to lean into him, to open his mouth and to thread his fingers into Becker’s hair.

The kiss seemed to last forever and yet take no time at all. When they parted, Becker felt sort of dazed and Lester’s breathing was too quick.

“I believe the usual course of action when one asks for permission is to actually wait for the answer,” Lester said, his voice somewhat lacking its habitual note of control.

“You weren’t exactly trying to stop me.”

Lester attempted to straighten his clothes. “Well, mustn’t underestimate the virtues of a good snog.”

“You’re admitting I’m good?”

“You serve your purpose.”

“Gee, thanks,” Becker said. “You really know how to make a bloke feel special.”

“I do what I can.” Lester looked away from Becker’s face, glancing around the kitchen. “We should probably--”

“It’ll wait,” Becker said, drawing Lester back in for a kiss. Damned if he was going to get cock-blocked on account of his mum.

In any case, Lester raised no further objections. In fact, he seemed quite determined to explore every bit of Becker he could reach, his hands skimming over Becker’s body and his tongue darting into Becker’s mouth. Becker was pretty okay with that.

He pulled back because he still needed to breathe, unfortunately, pressing just one quick, light kiss to Lester’s lips. “Connor will be sorry. He’ll miss having so much cake in the ARC.”

“Why would he miss it? I’m not dying, as far as I know.”

“You bake when you’re stressed.” It was an inescapable fact that Becker was an amazing shag. There was a lot to be said for amazing shags as stress relief.

“I do. I seem to be missing the correlation here.”

Becker shrugged. “You. Me. Shagging.”

Lester raised an eyebrow. “My, you have a high opinion of yourself.”

“You will, too, once we make it to the bedroom.”

“That’s as may be, but somehow I think I’ll still find the need for quite a lot of baking in my future.”

“Why?” Becker’s brow furrowed.

“I’ll be dating you, won’t I?” Lester asked and tugged Becker’s hand to lead him into the bedroom.

Becker would have protested, but he figured it could wait.

**_End_ **


End file.
